


Four Seasons

by ameerkatofficial



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Female Homosexuality, Genderbending, HAROLD THEY'RE LESBIANS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-12-05 18:23:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11583594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameerkatofficial/pseuds/ameerkatofficial
Summary: Femme AU solely because my friend was telling me about it and now I'm gay. Thanks James, you made me gay. But I'm gonna make this in the actual Sherlock Holmes timeline rather than any of the popular series' (Elementary and Sherlock)





	1. Summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [James Motherfucking Bonner](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=James+Motherfucking+Bonner).



> Sherlock and John Except they're girls I guess? I'm bad at summaries. It's a quick ditty, really, before I head off for 3 weeks, though I may or may not flesh it out more later...depending on what I choose to do, the rating is subject to change.

The bow moved furiously against a lovely, chestnut neck, strings rolling out long, languid expressive notes pulled from the taut string, but the bow soon cut off the pining sound with a gentle tap. There were little teases, little licks against the air here and there, growing softer, softer, more intimate and closer to one’s heart—until there was sudden, violent fluttering and worrying over tight strings, quick, violent notes _climbing_ —until the tension suddenly dropped, floating, pining morosely for some reprieve like drops of sweat rolling down one’s flushed skin, the tension agonizing as the afternoon’s blaze…lowing and even sultry in its way, a reprieve from the earlier passions that involved now dampened strokes and soft pants upon the heavy air—and then again came such violent passions! How they contorted, cried out in repetitive huffs these notes! How they blazed and stretched the strings to near-breaking point as they clung so desperately to the chestnut-brown neck!

And then at last a one-note sigh—a long, resounding, bass _release!_

"Best rendition of _Summer_ I've heard yet," the athletically-figured and bright-eyed Watson remarked absently, petite hands flitting like birds over envelopes and invitations strewn about the table before her, “Now help me sign these _bloody invitations!”_

Holmes pushed back a fallen strand of her dark hair, huffing and puffing and _dripping_ as she fluttered down from a gentle high, storm grey eyes shining as a soft rose shade settled upon her high, sweaty cheeks.

“Now that isn’t the language of a _lady_ , Mrs. Morstan,” the woman spoke with slow deliberation as she sat elegantly upon the edge of the armchair, not unlike an Arabian queen—especially as she didn’t _dare_ lift a finger to help!

“That is _Doctor_ Morstan _to you_ , Miss! And when have _you_ ever worried about being _ladylike?_ Suckling on that pipe of yours all day…”

Holmes spread out her long, graceful arm to lay a slim hands upon her dear friend’s rounded shoulders, “My friend, you’re muttering again—”

“—and you’re being _useless_.”

The good doctor’s squarish jaw clenched as her demurely painted lips pouted, and Holmes couldn’t help but admire their fullness for one fleeting moment, how they looked like a poppy in heavy bloom.

“I _envy_ your husband-to-be, Watson,” the detective sighed, palms rolling down the sides of the doctor’s arms as she pulled away, “for I cannot imagine how you can possibly address anyone more sweetly than you do to me—”

“ _—write…_ ”

A pen nearly struck Holmes across the face, hanging in air between two angered, flushed fingertips. Holmes took the pen within her own and reached over to seize an invitation and an envelope before standing to attend her own armchair instead.

_You are cordially invited…_

“Watson, is this not _dishonesty_ when _I’m_ the one writing the invitations to the individuals whom _you_ are inviting, signing the invitations in _your_ name?”

Doctor Watson’s head shot up, disrupting her cherry-wood plait, bright eyes burning as she pursed her lips, looking positively ghoulish in the waning daylight outside.

Holmes’s head dropped, eyes fixed more firmly than ever upon her task, “ _Right…_ ”

Silence ensued then as the two women busied themselves in writing, writing, writing…Holmes half-hoped for a crime to ensue, just so they’d be interrupted and pulled swiftly from his tedious task.

But Watson couldn’t help but enjoy the silence, finding herself at ease when wrapped in it, especially with how exhausted she had been as of late. But she especially enjoyed the silence with darling, dastardly Holmes, feeling serenity bound when sensing the brilliant, crackling energy the other woman gave off give way to quiet, calm when she managed to sit down, sober, not unlike the aura a cat gave off when it reposed in the sun.

Besides, she was a lovely sight when she managed to sit _still_ , especially now with that gentle, petite pout of hers, cracked and pink with notes of red from the oncoming dryness of the season, and then her long, slender hands upon the stationary, dark locks like the Black Forest falling over her clever, grey eyes.

It was funny how obedient the other was, sitting, writing, though it did eventually grow depressing how utterly bored the woman looked—depressing enough to stir even _Watson’s_ soul.

With a gentle yawn, the doctor stood, stretching up her arms with a soft, high-voiced sigh, causing Holmes’s head to shoot up, the tiredness of her eyes agreeing.

“Quite frankly I don’t see the _point_ of marriage if it requires this much effort…” the dark-haired woman yawned in reply, “If it’s all to allow two people who love each other to live together… _we_ might as well be _married—_ ”

_“Holmes, it isn’t the same thing!”_

 Holmes rose one slim brow, “And why _not?”_

Watson stood quite rigidly then, mouth opening and closing with no sound leaving a charming, country-girl ruddiness took to her ample cheeks, giving rise to a smile upon the detective.

Holmes stood then, carefully approaching the stupefied doctor, easily entwining her fingers around the other woman’s and leading her away from the armchair, the envelopes, the invitations like a pack of doves taking residence in their common room.

“Come, Watson,” she pulled her friend to the door, “Take your shoes, your hat, your gloves…and let us take an evening stroll.”

Watson resisted slightly, glancing back to the unfinished invitations, “Is there any necessity? Really, I’m fine.”

“ _Yes,_ ” the detective suddenly spun the woman closer, seizing her shoulders with a light squeeze as she leaned her forehead against the other’s, “Because you look positively _cadaverous_ , and if you’re going to lecture me about overwork, then I have every right to do the _same_ to you.”

Watson pouted for a long moment, considering as her robust figure seemed near to giving up against Holmes’s slender one, her bright eyes looking down to her friend’s slippered feet.

“You _stink_ ,” she replied at last, though with a timid grin.

“Precisely why I need some airing out— _come._ ”


	2. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk by the Thames and some surprising news!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, it's gay

"Already expecting a child?" Holmes tut-tutted, "A tad _soon_ , don't you think?"

The crinkling, yellow leaves rolled listlessly about their ankles, like stray dogs endearingly chasing their tails about. They walked arm in arm by the embankment of the Thames, where it was particularly lush, the air particularly clear. Only the best for an expectant _mother..._

" _Hardly!"_  the doctor laughed, "It's been a year, Holmes."

Holmes simply rolled her eyes, shaking her head lightly, " _Really_...well the headache your wedding party gave me still seems as fresh as if it were yesterday..."

The morning was cold and crisp, giving a shock of wakefulness to all who tread through it. Already the streets were busy despite the two ladies' best efforts to walk during a less active hour. It seemed the whole of London was keen on the same thing.

But Holmes's inability to properly wake for at least twenty minutes certainly didn't help.

Even so, the air was particularly tense with schedules and fears and worries and hopes. Summer had ended so abruptly and the whiplash of it rippled through the whole of the city. There were buses and bakers and butchers and foremen and doctors and lawyers and children regretfully going off to school. Autumn was sharp, chilly, and frantic, full of harsh beginnings coinciding with the slow, painful deaths of the flora about them.

Even Watson had about half of an hour before she, too, had to scuttle off to her practice.

" _A child..._ "

Watson giggled once again, through she crinkled her nose up at her friend, "If I didn't know any better...I'd fancy you were jealous."

"Me? _Jealous?_ Of _what?"_

Watson could only give a small, secretive smile as she deeply inhaled, then exhaled out, "Don't you worry, Holmes. I'll find you a tall-- _tall--_ handsome gentleman who is taller than even _you!"_

The detective scoffed, "A _gentleman._ Now whatever could I do with a _gentleman?"_  

"Fine. I'll find you a chimney sweep to _sweep you off your feet._ "

Holmes half smiled her crisp, red lips, "Well, at least he might be exciting..."

Watson suddenly whirled around, pulling her arm out of her friend's and grasping her hands, staring up with those wide, jubilant eyes. My, how she glowed...

"Oh come now, Holmes! You _must_ tell me what sort of man you'd fancy! What sort gives your heart a real _thrill?"_  

The detective sucked her teeth, her ruby lips pursing as her fingers curled against the doctor's, clawing for an escape. But it would be no use against leather gloves, it seemed.

"The only way _man_ could ever satisfy me," the detective snarled, "is by allowing me to _bring him to justice."_

And with that, the doctor finally loosened her grip, and the detective swiped her hands away, moving on ahead. Watson stayed a moment behind, frowning at the expanse ahead of her. Oh what was there to do about her poor, dear friend? Surely she wouldn't do well as a spinster, what with such an active mind. She held her stomach and bit her lip, wondering what she was to do. 

Even the detective looked back with a roll of her eyes, tossing her head back dramatically, thanking heaven for the foresight to pin her hat so tightly to her hair.

 _"Come along, Watson!"_ she groaned, before deciding to simply drag the poor woman through by the hand, "Come now, dear. You're going to be late. We can discuss my _gentleman suitor_ over dinner tonight, if you're able," she quickly coiled their arms together once again as she marched down past the trees, "Bring the happy father-to-be as well. I'll try to convince him that it's a good idea to name the child after _me!"_

 _"B-B-But--_ what if the child is a _son?"_

" _All the same!_ We _must_ do away with sexed names in this modern era, mustn't we?" she drawled, "His mother's far too _intelligent_ for such poppycock, and his namesake too _great!_ "

She flashed a roguish smile at her friend, immediately incensing the poor woman to shake with glee. The doctor had to clasp her friend's hand just to stay upright as they rushed alongside the River Thames, seeming to race against it. The detective kissed her friend's hand thrice along the way, moving on to her cheeks as they stood before the practice.

"Go on then. Be _brilliant,"_  she kissed her roughly upon the temple, "and I'll be the same."

"Holmes, _calm down!"_ the flushing woman giggled.

"How can I?" the taller suddenly gripped her friend's shoulders, nearly lifting the poor girl out of her boots, _"I'm going to be an Aunt!"_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHE'S HAVIN A BWA B Y

**Author's Note:**

> Ah this is just the beginning. Now I'm off to Russia! Will write again when I get back.


End file.
